There's Gold In Every Moment
by Everlane
Summary: A decade after a horrifying event, Rachel attempts to move on with her life in Ohio until she reunites with the last person she expected to see again. A tale about how there is still gold in every moment, even the ones that aren't so kind to us in life.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Glee

**Author's Note:** This was completely inspired from the police parade scene in _The Dark Knight__. _I was having a difficult time with my two other stories because school is coming up soon, so I'm basically posting this to get rid of my writer's block. I'm still writing a lot, but it's just getting the right bits to make the true story that's stalling me. But either way, I hope you enjoy this tale and feel free to comment.

* * *

**There's Gold In Every Moment**

She's passed the figure more than she could count, every day in the early mornings on her way to the center to fill her shift.

Sometimes she'd work more hours and still spot the bedsheets over the huddled form, never noting that she hasn't seen this person before. She didn't even know if it was a he or a she, and never wondered why this figure was out alone on Cherry Hill Court, sleeping near the porch of her condo with a filthy blanket on top.

"You don't know who that is?" Her friend Gabriel says after gulping down the last bit of his coffee, leaning over her desk with that small smirk she never warmed up to. Gabriel could be sarcastic at times, but he was the most grating man on earth when he reached that point.

"I'm quite surprised. You're usually the type who's on top of everything,"

"Well not on this one. I want to try to help but I'm not sure if I should. I do leave money in the can nearby," Rachel says, stacking her files. "It always disappears by the time I get home. I'm not even sure if the guy spends it himself or what,"

"Not guy. It's a woman that's under that blanket in front of your place. She's been around the town for weeks now."

"You've seen her face?"

He nods. "Yeah. She goes to the diner I usually go to to get breakfast." Then he disposes his Styrofoam cup. "Good looking. Doesn't seem like one of those addicts 'round here. She's a newbie." She winces at the word newbie, since there were dozens homeless victims in most of the scarier neighborhoods down town.

That evening she sees the huddled form outside her home and decides to nudge the woman underneath. The body was still, but another hard nudge gets it moving. The hem of the blanket moves down, revealing an all too familiar face. The woman's eyes closed back up, falling asleep. Rachel yanks the blanket off her, and almost falls back when the woman jolts up.

She reeked of something pungent. Alcohol, wafting off from her gray sweatshirt and pants. She rubs her eyes, which were bloodshot and darkly ringed. She has that frown Rachel sees on some of her small cousins when their shaken out of slumber, the type that doesn't like being awoken. She can't believe it. It's only been a decade but she never expected their reunion to be like this.

"Santana?"

The woman is still trying to sit up straight, nodding off. Rachel almost thinks she's mistaken the person for someone else. But no one else has that trademark scowl she sees on her former school bully, and no one has that scar over their forehead.

"Santana?" She whispers again, but the woman rests her head on her knee, trying to snap back to reality.

Rachel clutches the front of her coat. "It's me. Rachel Berry. Do you remember me?"

"Mm?"

It's slurred and almost audible. Rachel decides to pull the woman up, nauseated by the overwhelming scent. She's strong, and can drag Santana up the stairs using her shoulder to balance her. Santana says nonsensical things, most of the time repeating a name. _Brit. _Rachel swallows down the dark memories underneath, and pushes forward until Santana is rested in her bedroom. She sits on the couch, leans back, and waits for the woman to wake up.

* * *

June 18th, 2012.

Graduation Day.

Rachel remembers this like the back of her hand. Standing in front of a few hundred students like herself. She's reading her speech, looking at her parents for support because she's sure the students weren't paying attention. Santana included. Her parents look so joyous, and her dad gives her a thumbs up for her to go on with her speech. Even though it was too long and loaded with words she was sure most kids in her school had no idea about. And she wasn't being a hypocrite either, it was true.

Then for some reason, she looks at the wall in the back and lets her eyes move up. Up there on the second floor, where it was empty in the auditorium an hour ago, stood a tall and lanky boy with a rifle poised down over the students in red.

She thinks it's her head screwing with her for a second. But then when she realizes it wasn't, seeing four more boys like the first around the building, it was too late. She watches the first bullet hit Brittany Pierce in the back of her head, hides behind the podium, and shuts her ears while the shooting and screaming went on. She doesn't see her dads gunned down, and till this day, she's glad she never did.

Silently she watches Santana sip her hot coffee with trembling hands. Nothing's changed about her, except for the hair that's now longer, and the deep circles under her eyes. Her face is a bit leaner, and there's a small tattoo on the nape on her neck. She drinks the liquid like her life depended on it, yet forced herself small sips. The food in front of her is gone before Rachel realizes it, but the petite woman makes another plate and hands it to Santana, who mutters a words of thanks and chows down. She's not even sure if Santana remembers her at all.

Santana doesn't ask how she got here, in clean clothes and a warm home. Just wakes up padding into the room on her way out the front door. She said thanks like she did now, only to be stopped by Rachel, who tells her she's staying until she puts herself together after long minutes of convincing.

Rachel checks her cellphone, realizing she has another hour to go before she had to be at the center by eleven sharp. "I'm going to start getting ready for work. I laid some more clothes for you in the bedroom. They used to be my father's, but you can have them. There's food in the fridge so help yourself."

Santana looks up, her eyes finally clear and alert. "You're leaving me in your place,"

"Yes,"

"Just like that?"

Rachel frowns, "Yes."

Santana blinks and looks down at her food, she then looks up and says, "Um. I can't do that. I can't stay here."

"Why not?"

The woman looks at her like she's the most slow person on earth. "You don't know me."

"Of course I do."

Santana frowns. "I don't remember seeing you,"

"Well," Rachel says and smiles. "That's because I wore a ton of mini skirts and animal sweaters then." Santana still doesn't have a good time remembering, so Rachel adds regretfully. "Um...you were the one who stuffed a fake letter in my locker and had me slushied on the spot I was supposed to meet my secret admirer."

That's when Santana gets it, "Oh."

"But it's completely fine! I don't think much about that day. It was so long ago," When Santana clearly looks uncomfortable, she's suddenly eager to make her guest comfortable. "I mean it's just high school. right?"

Santana nods slowly, "Right."

When Rachel returns from work she's not too surprised to see that her home was empty. There were the clean clothes of her father's on her bed, folded neatly in the lower left corner. The plate Santana ate from was clean in the dish rack, and the earlier slightly frazzled state of her living room before she rushed out to work was immaculate. She wasn't sad, but she couldn't help with the twinge in her chest.

Days, weeks, and months pass by. Every morning when she gets ready for work, she expects to see the huddled form near her porch, but there was no one. Santana left without a trace.

* * *

When her dads were killed, Rachel found herself stuck. She couldn't move. Not when those assholes who called themselves relatives came to 'inquire' about the insurance policy her dads left for her. Not when she moves to New York in hopes of starting something meaningful, only to realize that it wasn't all that mattered. She still loved it. The arts. It was the only thing that made her sane, but it didn't help her move out of that rut.

What did was a day spent in a small child development arts center. The Cincinnati Conservatory for Squirts. She meant to stay just an hour with her other class mates for a volunteer opportunity at home during summer, but ended up staying eight hours. The children were five to twelve, and reminded her of herself when her fathers were around. They basked in her intellect. Her guidance and love. And she basked in their warm glow in the form of solace. Acceptance. It was truly the time she knew she was going to be happy again.

She finished school, did a number of shows, and went back to the new thing that made her life worth the most. Teaching the arts to youngsters.

Selassie is a bright two year old who smothers her wide paper with finger paint, giggling as Rachel helps her with some of her own, covering her cheeks with purple paint.

Gabriel stumbles in with her cell phone and an apologetic look, "Sorry. But it rung like six times. The lady on the other line says it's important,"

She takes the phone, "Hello?"

"Hey,"

The voice makes her smile, "Hi,"

"So um...I was won-"

Rachel grins, "Santana, you're always welcome to come over."

* * *

Santana arrives with a duffel bag and a suit case. She looks cleaner than she did before, almost like the cheerleader back in McKinley High. But that girl was gone. Here now was a reserved woman, who had a knack for wearing baggy dark clothing. A far cry from the stylish head bitch of McKinley who wore every trend in high school. She was a woman who lost her best friend as Rachel lost her own parents, and several others who lost their closed ones. She was one of the last shreds of memory in the McKinley Massacre, like Rachel was. Just not the same as she was before.

"I heard you left for the army right after high school," Rachel says, taking bits of blueberry into her mouth over the counter top in her kitchen. "Nigeria, right?"

"How'd you guess?" Santana smiles wryly across from her. "Yeah for five years in combat."

"What happened?"

She shrugs, "Not so sure. One minute I'm fighting in Lagos, then the next I get discharged for assaulting the general. No trial."

"You can't be serious,"

Santana smirked. "They didn't really discharge me for that only. I wasn't well liked by anyone."

"I can attest to that,"

They both laugh hysterically, and when it dies down Rachel asks, "Why leave for the army?"

"My family needed money. I didn't have much else to do." Santana smiles.

"Are they around?"

Santana shakes her head, "I'm not sure where their at,"

They start to eat more slices of the blue berry pie she made the other night, seated comfortably on the small couch in the living room in silence. Then Santana looks up when Rachel doesn't, "You know...I'm sorry for the letter prank,"

Rachel frowns, before she gets it. "Oh! No forget-"

"No." Santana says. "That wasn't really nice of me to do that..."

She takes another bite of her pie. "It's high school,"

"Just because it is doesn't mean you forget...you don't forget that easily,"

When it's time for bed, Rachel offers to sleep in the living room, but Santana is adamant that she stays in the bedroom. After a few minutes of arguing, Rachel finally relents and goes to her room. She's unable to sleep so hours later, she makes a check in the living room and still sees Santana dozing off on the couch.

She watches for a few more minutes before she decides to return back to bed, confident that Santana will stay. But there was something else she felt. Not just a slight tug in her chest, but something colder, like a chill down her spine. She then feels more tired, and decides to go back to her room and sleep.

* * *

**End Note: **This is a multi-shot by the way, so the next four chapters will come soon. Feel free to comment and let me know what you think. The story is just beginning, and if you are interested in seeing the video that inspired me, here it is: : / / w w w . ? v = s


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Glee

**Author's Note:** Thank you so much for your wonderful reviews. I saw that the link I posted wasn't showing up, so just go on my profile and click on the link there. Here is the second chapter. I hope you all enjoy it and feel free to let me know what you all think about it. I'd love to know what your thoughts are.

* * *

**There's Gold In Every Moment**

She's used to noting details, like the stray dry leaf that marks autumn or the fleeting sounds of woodpeckers over trees. The small whimpers of a newborn a few blocks away.

But lately there's touch.

Smell.

She's keenly aware of how tanned skin changes under light, turning a bright gold under the sun to a dark molten honey without it. Sometimes she scares herself when she traces the faint scent of pimento berries from the remnants of cigars or beer right after she comes home from work.

But the time she assures herself that she's going mad, is when she looks into those dark eyes and wonders if she will ever find out what's behind them.

They are courteous around each other, doing their parts respectfully to keep the house clean. Santana is mostly quiet, but she does care to share a small conversation with Rachel, who can't help herself. She tries to ask Santana more about herself, and the woman does indulge in her questions, but in the end, Rachel's not so sure it even helps her understand the woman.

The house now is like a realm of eggshells all over. She just doesn't know how to walk about the place anymore. Despite their obvious differences, they have something that refuses to leave them. Their memories. And with each day, the shooting and screaming was bound to continue for as long as they pretended to not think about it.

She walks into the living room to spot her in the kitchen, quietly cleaning the linoleum counter top a few minutes after washing the dishes. "You didn't have to do that, I was just about to start with those."

Santana looks up, "It's fine. I don't have much else to do, so I might as well do something, right?" She gives Rachel a small grin, looking back down when the petite woman returns the same gesture.

"Your dads died," Santana says an hour later on the couch next to her. When Rachel turns away from the television to look at the woman, she repeats again, "Your dads. They died in the shootings, right?"

Rachel nods, before looking back. "Right,"

"I saw it,"

"Saw what?"

"Them getting shot," Santana says quietly. "I'm sorry."

The blonde girl creeps into her mind now, the one who used to call her horrid names and whisper about her in the hallways. Brittany Pierce. When she sees her face, there's no anger or hatred anymore. There's sadness, and a haunting picture of her lifeless body slumped over amid trashing bodies avoiding the influx of bullets.

She isn't glad she's dead, not when she vividly remembers the image of Santana losing it on the football fields after the shootings over the girl's body on the gurney. "I'm sorry about your best friend," She says, turning to watch Santana eye the television.

"Brittany wasn't just my best friend," Santana says with a small laugh. "She was my girlfriend."

Her first and many other memories of Santana weren't good ones. She remembers sitting next to her in class, and having to move the next minute because the cheerio bluntly told her that she didn't sit next to losers. The fact that her parents were a same sex couple made her experience worse, she'd have jocks and cheerios trash her for that throughout the day. She'd get taunts and teases, wishing at one point that she didn't have such parents.

When she decided for everyone else to kiss her ass in her senior year, rumors began to emerge. Most of them of Santana, found on several occasions in a lip lock with the blonde. The two stopped bullying her, opting not speak to her at all. Whether it was because of her unwillingness to be bullied or not, Rachel tried not to pay too much attention to it.

She never dared make friends with them, but she recalls Brittany smiling at her once when they accidentally shared gazes. She returned it hesitantly, not sure if it was her she was smiling at or not.

That was a week before graduation.

"So the rumors were true? You two were dating?"

Santana smiles, "We were planning to run to LA. Make a life there."

There's silence after Rachel nods slowly, then Santana adds with a faraway look in her eyes, "I know you don't wanna hear me drone on about this. But I don't know where I am right now. It's strange. I feel like I'm walking, but I have no place to sit down in and think, you know?"

An urge pushes her to disagree, be the better person, but then something stops her. She sees her fathers in their coffins during the funeral, more handsome than they'd ever been with the rest of her relatives in the back whispering among themselves.

She feels like she does that day in the auditorium, as if her chest was torn open and someone just coldly ripped her heart out. Santana watches her now, waiting for an answer.

"I know."

* * *

Her students are usually beaming with excitement when a newcomer comes to the center. The little tots would jump on laps or braid hairs if the newcomer was a girl. Sometimes they dance with them during dance lessons, as if they wanted to get as much energy as they could get before their visitor might disappear.

Getting volunteers for the center was hard enough. The students from the local high school who stopped by usually had one agenda, and that didn't include spending some time with children. Some the employees who came preferred to lounge around and collect their paycheck, rather than work their hours.

It irritates Rachel, since she'd give her all to make sure their children got the best from the program, even if some of the parents didn't have the financial means to pay. But there were days like this where she'd forget about those things in the center, and just enjoy the moment.

Santana didn't have the children wanting to play with her or braid her hair, because all of them were practically awed by the reserved woman. She had them sit around in their little circle, teaching them small techniques on improving their drawing skills. They were small kids, but under Santana's tutelage they were miniature adults who were keen on impressing their teacher.

"Oh my God. If I'd known, I'd be the one giving her a place to stay." Gabriel whispers and clutches Rachel's arm. "Can we keep her? Can we? Can we?" He says feverishly.

She laughs, watching Santana crouch in front of Selassie, whose cheeks rise instantly when the woman says something a different language. The girl replies back more fluently, surprising Rachel with her more calm voice.

Gabriel gives her a an affirmative nod, a clear sign that he'd love for Santana to come back to help for a good pay. When he leaves, Rachel leans back against the door and continues to watch the exchange between Santana and Selassie, who squeals at something the woman says.

* * *

"You were good,"

"Yeah? I thought I scared them."

Rachel laughs. "No, they were too in love with you to do anything," Then she pats the woman's shoulder, holding it there as they walk down the path in the park. "Gabriel was too. He was wondering if you'd like to work some more at the center?"

Santana stops, making the petite woman a bit more nervous. "Are you serious?...Oh my God, of course I'd love to work there." She hugs the other woman tightly, laughing with her.

For a moment, Rachel feels something pull her, but the feeling ends when Santana steps back with the first huge grin on her face. The breezy wind tosses her hair about. She almost looks like someone from one of those postcards, and Rachel wishes she had a camera to capture the moment.

She leans forward, pulling Santana into another hug, smiling as she hugs back just as enthusiastically.

"Thank you," She whispers against her ear.

"No," Rachel shakes her head.

"Thank you."

* * *

It's a _girl_ thing.

That means she shouldn't take it so seriously.

Just a mistake.

She came back from the fitness center with her, and they were having a blast, like two old friends strolling down the block.

They come home and dine on stir fried vegetable and brown rice, have glasses of wine, and watch Barbra Streisand movies after playfully arguing. It didn't seem like the type of thing where you could sense something drastic was going to happen, but it happened anyways. She tells Santana that she was going to take a quick shower.

When she's done, she has it in her head that Santana's still in the living room watching the movie. She forgot her towel in her bedroom and decides to walk into the room naked to grab it.

But when she gets in, Santana's already there folding clothing. Before she could turn, the woman catches her. She tries to act calm, moving behind the door with her hands out while laughing a little. It takes what felt like hours for Santana to realize she was asking for a towel, and she quickly hands her the pink terrycloth.

Hours later, Santana tells her that she was going out for a jog and doesn't come back until ten in the evening. Rachel smells the stench of beer, but doesn't try to comment. It wasn't like Santana was making her life hell, she kept her habits to herself. She should be just happy with that fact, and not try to prowl about the woman's business.

From the kitchen, she takes a peek at the woman doing push ups on the floor. If she really was drunk, smelling like that, then she was the greatest actress alive. She looked drunk, but definitely didn't act like it. Not at all.

"Do you need anything to drink?" She asks from afar.

Santana mutters something, and Rachel thinks it's a no. But then the woman stops her push ups, walks over to the kitchen, and asks for a glass of water. She says it in a way that's demanding, but Rachel goes ahead to fetch water and hands the glass to Santana, who gulps it down in one swig.

When she's in bed, she thinks about the look Santana gives her when she saw her naked earlier. She tries to ease her way into sleep by punching her pillow, but it's no use. She tells herself that it's still a girl thing, and even if Santana made it clear that she was into women, she shouldn't think that the woman was aroused in any way.

It would be wrong to do that.

_It's just a girl thing._

…

Eight months pass when the man calls her one morning.

She forgot what time it was, but she knows it was early in the morning because she felt like she had to balance a rock on her head.

The man says he worked for ABC, and they were doing a special documentary on the McKinley Massacre for 20/20. She tries not to be rude, because there were dark memories swarming inside her head, but he tells her to think about it.

She gets the coffee brewing and starts on breakfast, never mentioning the call when Santana comes inside the kitchen to help. The woman was much less leaner, spending more time in the gym and at the center where they worked together. She smiles more often, thanks to the children, so Rachel didn't want to screw that up by saying anything.

But the man -Theodore Mallory- calls again. This time she's too late to grab the phone first because Santana was closer to it. Rachel is helpless when the smile on Santana's face quickly dies down. Her voice was bright and calm, but now cold and hostile.

"Yeah. I'll do it." Rachel shakes her head. "She'll do it."

"I'm not doing it," She whispers, but Santana only casts her a look.

"It's fine. Just tell us when to come and we'll talk."

When the she finds herself sitting in front of cameras and a kind woman named Amy, she falters a lot when she had to recount the events. The interviewer asks her to take a deep breath. Calm down if you need to. So she silently recounts the tale, confused about the heavy feeling in her chest. Santana is sitting not too far away, her gaze pinning her down in their small apartment.

Their small apartment.

"So you're in front of the podium reading your speech,"

"Yes."

"Do you remember some of it?" The blonde woman asks, her eyes kind, prompting Rachel to calm down. "Anything at all? What did you write about?"

"My dads," She says. "About how much their love pulled me through school. Because I was bullied a lot..." She pauses, but pushes forth when Amy is about to tell the camera crew to stop. "I was thanking them for that...then I looked at them, and the last thing...

"The last thing I remember them doing was giving me a thumbs up. Like this," She brings her hand up, failing to stop the tears that trail down her cheeks. Pushing on when she started to choke. "Then I look up and there were about four of them around. And they started shooting."

She's unaware that the camera stopped rolling the minute she began to cry. Her face is red and blotchy, with her mascara running down her face. She's hysterical, sobbing uncontrollably when the blonde woman comforts her.

But it's Santana she wants. She wanted Santana, whose arms reach her, making Amy move away.

She's one of the eighty four who survived the massacre.

But she feels like those men killed her in that auditorium too.

* * *

**End Note: **Three more chapters left to go. I seriously appreciate all your reviews. Please, feel free to comment and tell me what you think about the second chapter.

**dee:** wait no more!

**Guest:** thank you. i'm glad you liked the first chapter.

**amazinglife18:** thank you! that means so much!

**kkuzzz:** thank you!

**sawa255:** thank you!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Glee.

**Author's Note: **Gosh, thanks so much for your wonderful support. It's very refreshing seeing reviews. Thanks so much. Here is the next chapter before two chapters are left. And so sorry for the delay, since school is beginning I've been spending time trying to get the finances ready for classes. Hope you enjoy.

* * *

**There's Gold In Every Moment**

The dark bluish skies tell her it's too early to leave bed, yet she swings her legs over the edge and sits up, waiting for the surge of energy to stand. It doesn't come easily, but the distant noises from the television in the living room catches her attention.

When she reaches the living room, she's rooted on the spot when she sees Santana flipping through an album.

She's not angry...just...she didn't know what to do. It's the same set of photos her dad called his treasure, his little gold nuggets. She hasn't looked inside them since the massacre, and doesn't intend to look at them now. She makes the decision to slip quietly back inside her room and leave Santana, but the woman's slightly husky voice stops her.

"You're forgetting I used to be in the army," Santana turns with a small smirk before patting the space next to her. "Come over here. Sit next to me."

She does and snuggles further into Santana's arms, watching several pictures of herself toddler self on the carpet. There's a heaviness in her chest, but it's hard thinking about it when the woman's arms were around her. Since her breakdown, they had no problems comforting one another that way.

No longer where the pauses, for Santana hugged her whenever, as if she was a best friend she hadn't seen in a long time. It made her happy inside, to know that through this small gesture, she knew someone wanted her to get better as much as she wanted for that person.

"You're so damn cute."

Rachel laughs a little, her chest fluttering each time she sees her fathers either wrapped up in each other's arms or holding her close to them. Her eyes are burning, but she lets no tears fall. Still, Santana senses what she's feeling, and slips an arm around her waist.

They go through more pictures. Some of Rachel in her ballet lessons or in plays, others of Rachel during high school with her fathers. She watches the young girl in those pictures closely, all bright smiles and sparkling eyes. She's still there, brought back by her little babies in the center, but there was something missing. There's always been something missing.

There was one picture where she was on a trip to the amusement park with her dads, just out of the swimming pool. Some of the people were uncomfortable with her dads being in the pool, so they left. Still, the family had the greatest time of their lives, despite the ignorance of others.

The sun comes up a little, indicating that time was running. She's glad it's only Sunday, so that meant she got to stay home the whole catches her eye.

She picks the picture up, smiling at the class photo of herself in third grade. But this was a group picture, and right next to her sat a scowling Santana Lopez in the most hideous blue dress she had ever seen. She bursts out laughing, and that's when the other woman snatches the picture from her.

"Yep, that's me alright."

When her laughter bubbles down, they fall into a comfortable silence. They flip through more pictures. This time, Santana finds another one. It's a photograph of another group picture in middle school, but Brittany's there in the back with her, while Rachel was beaming in the front.

She knows that the girls were beginning to like each other as friends by the way they were leaning against each other with small grins on their faces. The blonde had on pigtails held up by pink ribbons, with a blue sweater over lean jeans and trendy boots. It's the first she's seen Santana in any trendy clothing, catching a glimpse of the old person she used to be, before everything changed.

"Do you still think about her?"

Rachel asks, and Santana nods anyway, even though she thinks that's a stupid question. The woman looks up with a sad smile. "Everyday.

"Huh. She used to swear being kidnapped by aliens."

Rachel laughs. "Really?"

"Oh yeah. You'd never be bored when it came to Brittany."

Rachel nods, pausing a bit as if to think deeply about what she was going to say next. "Do you think of being in a new relationship?"

"Hm. Dunno if that's gonna happen," She puts the photo down, looking up in Rachel's direction. When she does, it's like Rachel hasn't seen the girl in years. She's momentarily awed by her dark orbs, and the way her raven hair frames her face.

"But I've looked around,"

"Oh."

Rachel slumps a little before looking away, but doesn't know why. Maybe it's because deep down, she looked more forward to the woman's hugs and attention. Maybe she mistook it for something else.

She's wrapped up in her own thoughts that she doesn't feel the tug on her chin until she's looking directly at Santana, who pulls her forward to brush her lips against hers. It's was innocent, chaste even. Their lips caressed one another, but didn't go any further.

Rachel is suddenly aware of what their doing and pulls back abruptly, she's dazed at first until Santana mutters 'I'm gonna go shower' and leaps up to disappear into the bathroom. Holding her hand against her beating heart, she's helpless hearing the sounds of water running.

* * *

The soft tunes of the guitar seeps inside the room, grasping everyone's attention. The new guest has a soft smile he tosses at the children surrounding him, with a small glint in his eye when his fingers quicken over the guitar strings. The Finn Hudson she knew as a McKinley freshman was at the top of the social pyramid. The all-American jock. At that time she figured he'd still be looked up to as a demigod even in their high school reunion, and she'd probably still have that big crush on him.

But she hasn't thought of him since she entered her senior year. When all the survivors met in the last scene of the documentary, it was him who approached her. She had to think real hard to remember him, for his hair was a little gray around the sides and he had a shadow over his chin and cheeks. He had a polo shirt on with worn jeans over boots, and since he always had his letterman jacket on in school, it was hard trying to picture him without it.

He asked her out a week after meeting, but she quickly said no. She doesn't know why, but she knew she wasn't interested. He was kind though, and he asked if he could help around the center a little bit after she and Santana received tons of donations after the documentary aired. She accepted, but later realized she probably shouldn't have. Seeing Santana smile like the sun was right on her face confirms Rachel's mistake.

The man has volunteered at the center for weeks now. Since then, they've been in this tumble she wanted desperately to get out of. Not that she didn't want to date anyone, it's just that she doesn't want to date him. He's nice and friendly, the type of man you'd want to see as a dad for your children. A homely guy. But it's not him that she wants. It's someone else, and it took meeting him again to realize that.

But it feels...

She's not sure.

"So, do I still have a chance with you?" He asks later after the center locks down, with both of them the only ones in the auditorium. "I mean. Just a night out?"

She laughs nervously. "Um. I'm awfully busy this month. I'm not sure if I could find the time to-"

"Rache," He steps forward with his the smile that used to sweep her off her feet even from a distance, and leans down to brush his lips against hers. But he's unsuccessful when she turns her head. "Um. So you'll think about it?"

_Hell no. _She knows that Santana might be pissed, but wasn't sure if it was because she happened to be conversing with Finn. She didn't know anything about what Santana thought about. And why the hell did she care anyway?

"Finn...we've only met for a little while now."

He grins, "I guess I'm being too forward, right?"

"That's not it." She says then lets the next set of words out without thinking twice. "I'm..."

"Oh."

She's surprised herself, "Yes."

He nods, looking as if he was trying to wrap this around his head. She feels guilty and quickly adds, "We could still be friends. I'm sure you'll find someone else. You're a wonderful man, Finn."

He smiles softly, but she knows he's not backing down yet. Still, she accepts the kiss on the cheek and watches him stroll out of the auditorium, leaving her more confused about herself than she thought. She swears it's not because of Santana. It shouldn't be.

* * *

She properly prepares for the day, taking a shower and brushing her teeth. Her mind is so wrapped around the feel of lips against hers that she stops pacing in the middle of her bedroom, hearing the sounds of utensils and pots moving in the kitchen. She clutches her towel, turning to look at her door, which was slightly ajar.

There's nothing telling her to stop as she silently walks into the living room, before leaning against the wall. She only sees Santana, covering two small bowls of oatmeal with a plate of mixed fruits next to it. Her head is bent over the food...she doesn't know Rachel's there.

She stiffens once Rachel is near, palming her arms and leaning against her back. Rachel feels the terry cloth slipping, but she doesn't bother to fix it. Only turns Santana around, and tip toes to press her lips against hers. A warm tug pulls at her lower belly, and the towel brushes against her wet skin, moving down to pool over marble tiles below.

She's only been in one relationship before, and that was with a boy named Jesse. It lasted three months, and since then, she's never been with anyone since. With Santana, she found herself in a another realm of intimacy. Something she'd never find in a teenage fling with Jesse.

She doesn't think much when kissing the woman, parting her lips, stroking her tongue with hers. It's another experience, and she doesn't notice until Santana pulls back, casting her a confused gaze. She doesn't let the veteran speak, "I'm not sure about a lot of things. But I know I'm more sane when I'm with you. I'm sure I want to-"

She's silenced immediately, pushed into her bedroom onto her bed. She doesn't see much light, since the window blinds were shut, but she feels wetness move from her mouth. It lingers over the hollow of her neck, over her chest, and down both breasts. A moan leaves her lips, and she pants slowly as Santana gently laps and sucks both nipples.

She kisses the valley between her breast, crawling over the undersides and onto her stomach. When she finally reaches down below, Rachel shuts her eyes, closing hands over the sheets, softly moaning one name that mattered at this moment. She then strokes her dark hair, and buckles her knees over tanned shoulders, reaching up to cover the hands that found their way over her breasts.

Santana's hands are unrelenting and firm, kneading them while rolling both nipples with her thumbs. She breathed deeply, brows scrunching a little at the pain that felt too good to stop.

Santana slides back up and mutters something. Rachel's not sure what, then lips move against her ear whispering loud enough for her to know that the woman was telling her she was beautiful this way in her native tongue. There are more whispers, most unintelligible because their so low, but others loud enough for her to not dare translate the. It didn't matter. The only she grew aware of was her hot breath against her ear, and insistent fingers working over her.

She accepts the deep kiss from Santana to muffle growing cries, raising her knees upwards before fingers started to thrust inside. She's like this holding on to the headboard with Santana behind, and on her side riding her climax.

She's intent to please the woman too, pressing herself against her body as she thoroughly kisses her, sitting on lap. Santana's hands rove all over her sides, and her smacks cheeks. Rachel laughs against her lips a little and pulls back. "I couldn't resist," She whispers, stealing a chaste kiss, while still caressing her.

"You're making me feel slutty."

Santana grins, "For a good cause."

The sounds of automobiles pass by, and children with parents playing on the sidewalk aren't heard. Both naked and under thin sheets, they only sounds in their ears were their harsh breaths and skin against each other.

She's pulled further over her lap, her breath in shudders as they move against each other, moving onwards to their end. Her breath hitches, and she has this satisfaction watching Santana's eyes shut close, and her chest heave after she softly cries out her name.

They tumble back against the pillows, and find each other, snuggling in each other's arms. She loves the feel of fingers combing through her hair, her temples kissed, and that makes her more happier than she ever was before.

But there something nagging at her. She's not sure what. But she's so tired to think right now and circles Santana's right breast with her finger. She doesn't complain when she's told to stay still, and is on her back, smiling when Santana presses herself against her.

* * *

There's sweet airiness in the cave, as if she's atop of clouds, overlooking the harsh realities beneath. It's toasty, warm, everything she'd imagine being in her arms could be. But in the back of her mind, she's afriad that one slip could ruin everything.

They are far away from the others, deep into the back of a cave yet close enough to see sunlight. As their lips caress one another, they're calmed by the noises of the children nearby with other chaperones watching over them.

Lover's Tunnel was the main attraction for couples at Forest Hill Park. Over the huge lake pool they were in lied a cave, carved out near the back in a small corner, tucked between two boulderlike cliffs. It's difficult spotting it because you'd think it was just two huge rocks next to each other, but with sharp vision like Santana's, it took less than a second to spot the small dark entrance in between.

She found herself kidnapped, giggling as she's treatened to swim inside, never stopping until they passed all of the four couples there. No one notices them, since they were so busy with themselves. Not that she really minded, but she's never done anything like this.

"Everything okay?" Santana asks, muttering against her lips.

"I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Of course."

She's a deer in headlights when Santana narrows her eyes. The woman starts to say something, and then it happened.

It was piercing and long. The shrilling scream of a girl. They were out the tunnel in less than a minute, rushing to the edge where all the children stared in shock at Finn holding a crying Selassie.

Life guards grab onto a blonde man who looked so familiar, seating him roughly on a feet far away from the little girl. The man was yelling, yelling so hard that it was impossible hearing the child's voice.

Santana quickly rushed over the the guards, while Rachel worked her legs up the short steps from the water towards Selassie's direction. The child's face was scrunched up, red and flushed with tears. She took the small girl from Finn, shushing her as she stroked her curly hair and rubbed her back.

"What happen?" She asks Finn who was right behind her.

"I'm not sure. I was watching the other kids and thought Gabriel had an eye on her," He takes a deep breath. "Then next thing I know she starts screaming. I turn and found..." He points at the blonde man. "...him trying to pull her away from Gabriel."

"He just came to grab her? Just like that?" She feels the fear rising in her voice.

Finn nods. "Yeah. It's almost as if he followed her here."

The girls crying had already stopped, reducing to small sniffs and sobs. She was still trembling, holding tight to Rachel, who watches Santana interrogate the blonde man while officers started approaching them.

* * *

The girl's parents were still in North Carolina on their trip. When she called them, they told her that they were no their way and should be back by the next morning. Selassie's mother was so frightened, that Rachel herself tried to calm her down, even though her heart was beating so hard.

After they quickly left the park, Santana drives both she and the child to the nearest department store to get fresh pajamas and other supplies for the night. Selassie is now quiet, and holds on to Santana, who didn't mind holding her close. Rachel knows that the girl is terrified.

"Do you need some more hot chocolate?" She whispers to the child laying down over the bed in her new pajamas. Selassie shakes her head with a small frown. "You sure?"

"Can you sleep next to me?"

"Of course." Rachel says.

"I want Tana too."

Rachel smiles hesitantly. "Okay."

Selassie nods, then pauses a bit, her brows lowering into a small frown. She looks different this way, exactly like the age she is now at four. "You know, my daddy says he's my dad."

"Who is?"

"The bad guy,"

"The one who tried to grab you?" She asks.

She doesn't get an answer, for the little girl was already asleep, softly snoring in the dim lit room. That's when she looks at her face closely, noting the way her full lips parted. Her lids. The roundness of her face. The girl has a bubbly personality, was driven, focused, and wasn't afraid to laugh out loud in the middle of a also knows that Selassie was the most talented of all the children in the center, who had a bright future in entertainment in the future.

The girl's father was a surgeon, while her mother was a lawyer, but Rachel never really thought Selassie looked much like her parents. In fact, sometimes she felt that she was looking at someone else in the girl's attitude. Selassie was a lighter shade of brown. She had dark eyes and a smile that made Rachel think of someone she used to know. She had a powerful voice on stage even at the age of four, and Gabriel often referred to her as Little Franklin, after Aretha Franklin.

"Figured it out?"

She turns to look at Santana leaning against the door, and looks back at the girl sleeping peacefully.

"How long have you known?"

"Long enough." Santana says quietly. "I guess Wheezy did have something on the side back then."

"Don't call her that." Rachel says quietly.

"What happened to her?"

The brunette shakes her head. "Mercedes had a lot of issues."

"After the shooting."

"Yes." She says in a daze. "I tried...she was four months along and I helped her for a while. She didn't talk much about the father. Then her mother came to get her home..." Rachel tucks the blankets around Selassie. "...I guess she gave her up for adoption like she said she would."

"You tried to help."

Rachel nods slowly, "It was pointless.

"After I broke down during the documentary I realize that I was never okay. It's all just cover up with me. I'm always smiling and going to work, but I never get the chance to notice something's been off...

"And I tried to help, under this illusion that I knew better and I wasn't like her. I didn't want to be like her...like you..." She hears soft footsteps behind her.

She closes her eyes when arms close around her, and lips graze her temple. "Go to sleep," The voice is low, but it trembles. She quickly turns around and embraces her, holding her tight against her. Santana's tears are making her shoulders wet but she doesn't care. She just...

"Then I get so scared that what we have could end. That all we'll remember is that day. I get scared that we'll never be happy...that's why being with you is so surreal for me..."

She pulls back to steal a kiss, before hugging her again. They stayed like that for some time, never wanting to let go of each other. Later on they propped themselves on each side of Selassie, with Rachel softly smiling at the way the girl instantly burrowed herself into Santana's warmth. The woman gives Rachel a wink when the girl rests herself on her chest, resembling an angel. A gift out of something so tragic.

* * *

**End Note:** So. What do you think?


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